


Floodgates

by Watergirl14



Series: Kings and Queens [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Awesome Bulma Briefs, Consensual Non-Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Overstimulation, Power Dynamics, Roleplay, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-12 12:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19570969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl14/pseuds/Watergirl14
Summary: Bulma has evolved from a bored captive to the chief engineer of the Saiyan Fleet. Vegeta has cast off years of darkness and damaging transformations to rise as King of the empire. The next chapter in their story? Marriage.





	1. Wedding Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! This is a companion piece to Drought, the wedding(s)! I took some inspiration from other alien wedding ceremonies I've seen in scifi/fantasy, so hopefully you can spot the homages. Either way, enjoy!

The last time Bulma had been on the Saiyan homeworld, then-Prince-now-King Vegeta had still been stuck in his powerful transformed state, though admittedly that seemed to be self-imposed due to paranoia. In the intervening year since she was reunited with her family and then joined the Saiyan empire as the flagship’s chief engineer, they'd been everywhere. 

First and foremost was the castle ship, crashed on Namek. No casualties, thank goodness, but there were numerous problems to say the least. The faulty nacelle, exploded as part of the autopilot, had been completely dead, had taken nearly a month to repair. Most of the damage on that side of the ship was cosmetic, but there were nonetheless major structural problems that had to be addressed. Bulma was pleased as punch to note that all of her other repairs and changes had held up even through the catastrophe, down to the cleaning bots. 

In exchange for their repaired ship, the Saiyans had been put to work finishing the pumps project, Dr. Briefs’ brainchild to combat Namek's deadly drought. Her father was practically giddy having so many men to haul parts—and her mother equally giddy to have all of the Saiyan mouths to feed. She'd even managed to convince Chi-Chi, the other human woman on King Vegeta's ship, to lend a hand, and by the end of the repairs the two women were swapping recipes and stories about motherhood. Her elder sister Tights had also been busy, frantically interviewing soldiers, asking about the perils of space, fishing for ideas for a new novel.

When they left the planet, Bulma's father had deposited a meticulously detailed manual on the care and keeping of the pumps with the Namekians. Prince Tarble, the chief of staff of the castle ship, had promised to the Grand Elder Guru that they could count on the emperor. 

“If anything happens here, you need just say the word and we shall return,” he had said. 

“You are our subjects,” added his brother. “The royal family must do better by you after these decades of neglect.” 

Then came the day where there was no more work to do. The ship took off, carrying all of the humans and Saiyans with it, and it shot off across space for Earth. After Bulma had made Vegeta promise not to take it over (joking, of course), their journey ended, the ship landing in a remote part of the southern hemisphere. 

Tien and Chiaotzu bid all farewell, wishing the best to the Briefs family—bittersweet for Tien and Tights, whose fledgling relationship had never recovered from the stress of Bulma's kidnapping. Yamcha had been essentially placed under house arrest, first to recover from his injuries after his battle with Vegeta, and second to ensure that there were no repeat performances. Bulma did not say goodbye to him, though she did have kind words for Puar. The four of them flew to their corners of the world, to their fates. 

The Saiyans were given a day’s leave, permission to explore the local area, sample the local fauna, so long as they avoided the local people. Bulma immediately went to Capsule Corp, company production kept up during her absence, but their home itself abandoned for the previous two years. With her came the major players in her life—her family, the brothers Bardock and kin, the royals. Certainly, compared to space it was not fancy, but Chi-Chi at least was struck dumb by the compound and all of the food available in the city beyond. They feasted and frolicked, and at the end of the day Bulma and the King sat perched on her bedroom balcony, looking up at the stars and sharing the names of planets and constellations.

Then, they left. 

The Briefs piled into the ship, accepting it as their new home, and they went gallivanting across the galaxy again, back to the empire. Bulma and her father became the entire engineering crew. Tights’ artistic talent came in handy for writing logs, charting maps, and entertainment. Her mother was put to work in the kitchen, her chocolate chip cookie recipe and incessant optimism immediate hits both for the soldiers and the royals. 

And Bulma and Vegeta kept getting to know each other, taking dinners together, talking about their lives and their cultures, experimenting with communication strategies, fighting over dumb things, making up in the bedroom. Perhaps the most important, though—Bulma decided, after another six months back on the ship, that she would accept the King's marriage proposal, and become his wife. 

So yes. Much had happened since the last time Bulma Briefs had last landed on Planet Vegeta, the Saiyan homeworld. 

Since accepting his offer, Bulma had been thrown headlong into wedding planning—and by that, she mostly meant that Tarble had immediately taken over everything having to do with the ceremony, with her an accessory to whatever grand design he had. That was fine by her, honestly—when her mother had protested slightly, Bulma had assured her family that they would have a small Earth style ceremony, just with the most important people. Vegeta had promised her this small thing (though she had to admit getting two wedding nights was also on her agenda).

Today, though, as Bulma stepped into the desert again, armbands protecting her against the high gravity, she had the larger thing to attend to. Settling in, for her weddings were at the end of the week. 

Bulma turned to her fiancé, who was stretching his arms over his head in the crescent moonlight. After the physical ordeal of decades without real rest, with only healing pods to sustain himself, Vegeta had been recuperating, building up strength. Now he looked not just healthy, but sculpted, the martial arts he was fond of toning the frail thin muscles to that befitting a warrior. The nurturing part of her was incredibly grateful—so was the hedonist. Hadn't done anything for his height, though, which the King had lamented more than once. 

“Are we going to the villa?” Bulma asked, nodding her head toward the cliffs where it lay sequestered. And they were, judging by how he threw her over his shoulder with a menacing grin and took off into the air, laughing over her screams. 

The engagement had been announced shortly after the proposal had been accepted. While recording the message to homeworld, Vegeta had been whatever emotion closest to nervous he could experience. “They may not accept you,” he had said, referencing the council of elites that led the capital. “There has never been a non-Saiyan monarch. They could perceive you as weak.”

Bulma just shrugged. “Fuck them.”

That pulled a laugh from the King. “Nothing has changed your political ineptitude I see.” 

If there were protests Bulma did not hear of them, and as she and her King landed at the villa she expected she wouldn't while she was on the planet. Would be a real stupid move to object to the King's wedding.

Tarble and Bulma's sister, both helping to officiate, followed the lovers to their hideaway the next day, before the chill had left the rocks. There was far too much to do. Tights went first—she was handling the human ceremony, and for better or worse, it was not difficult to explain to the Saiyans. The royal wedding, on the other hand...

“Here are the readings you must memorize,” Tarble said, passing some old-fashioned papers out to everyone. “I have taken the liberty of editing some of the text to accommodate Bulma's heritage, but it is nearly identical to the previous royal wedding script. There is also the choreography.”

“That is not a problem,” Vegeta said, rolling out the paper and looking at it. “I can memorize this in a day.”

“Good for you,” Bulma droned, looking at her multiple sheets and wondering what she got herself into as Tarble launched into a step by step of the day’s logistics. 

When their siblings had flown back to the castle, once Bulma and Vegeta were settled in their bed against the chill, the King turned to her.

“Bulma,” he said, and his tone was the soft kind she couldn't ignore. 

She looked up at him, curled into the crook of his arm and paging through her script. “Yeah?”

He stared down at her with intense eyes, and she set the papers aside. Must be important. “As...thorough as my brother was, he did not tell you everything about Saiyan marriage.”

Bulma resisted the urge to make a joke, instead shifting to look at him more directly. “What did he miss?”

“The post-wedding process.”

She bit her lip. “You need to be more specific, because I know what honeymoons are like on Earth—”

“Tch. Be serious a moment.”

“Sorry, Vegeta.”

He cleared his throat. “You remember what I have told you about mating and marriage?”

She nodded. “Mates form a bond. You can experience, on a minor level, the emotions of the other person. Honestly, from a scientific standpoint it's absolutely fascinating—” and she cut herself off when she saw his irritated look. “Um. Is there more?”

Vegeta nodded, jaw set as though he were steeling himself against something. “That bond is triggered by a bite.”

She snorted, couldn't help it, before regaining her composure. “Sorry, I really am, I just—a bite? Like, _I want to suck your blood_ vampire bite?”

It was annoyance, now, on his face. “A mutual bite that exchanges blood and energy, yes. It heals within moments.”

Ah, he was being serious then. She took a breath to swallow the mirth. “Okay. I assume you're warning me about it?” He nodded. “Does it hurt?” 

“Not for long.” The annoyance was fading, replaced by mischief. “I've been told that if you link the bite with fucking, it produces ecstasy.”

Now she grinned at him, running her foot absently up and down his leg. “Oh, does it? I don't believe you. Care to demonstrate what you mean by ecstasy, my liege?”

She squealed as he flipped her underneath him. 

* * *

The week flew by, and soon Bulma was sequestered in Vegeta's childhood bedroom, her sister and mother helping her into a long satin dress, white and sleek and stylish. She had kicked Vegeta out of the bed they'd shared in the morning, dropping all of the earth superstitions on him—“You can't see me today! It's bad luck!” Vegeta didn't seem to appreciate the importance of that, but he apparently wasn’t going to fight her on human tradition. 

“Damn,” Bulma said, whistling at her reflection. “I look good.” Smoothing the fabric down her hips helped to assuage the nerves slightly. And this wasn't even going to be the hard wedding! 

A knock on the door. Her father's voice—“Are you ready my dear?” When she said yes, he pushed into the room, stopping just as he laid eyes on her. “Oh my, Bulma. You look stunning.” He beamed, eyes radiating joy and pride, more so when she flung her arms around his neck.

It was time for the first ceremony. 

The garden outside didn't require decorations, the flowers and plants beautiful enough for any ceremony, especially in the vibrant colors of dusk. Her mother had fashioned some sort of archway up by the cliff walls, though, draping red and blue ribbon across it, lighting ruby colored candles among the stones. Vegeta stood under that arch, somehow having been wrangled into a black suit that _hot damn_ he looked good in, all crisp and sharp lines, wreathed by silk and buds. Not a King, but a man, and _her_ man at that. Beside him stood his royal guard and brother, also wearing suits and looking rather uncomfortable, Kakarot plucking at his collar until he noticed her gaze, little Garban nestled into his knees. On the other side, Chi-Chi and her mother wore pale blue satin and bright smiles. Tights held a book in the center of the arch, trying to dampen nerves under the obvious happiness. 

There was no audience, and that was okay. 

The gramophone from the study had been moved outside for the occasion, and as Bulma stepped into the garden, arm curled around her father's elbow, the familiar melody of the bridal march began to play. Her heart started a frantic pace in her chest, but it was only a few footfalls before she was on the precipice, stepping onto a soft tapestry, red, trailing up to the archway.

As she walked, all eyes were on her, but it was Vegeta's gaze that she returned, deep brown and intense. Drawing closer, she could see his attention drop over her, the dress, the veil, the flowers, returning back to her face, eyes dancing in candle flames. 

Just before the archway, her father disentangled their arms, turning to her with a bright grin, and they embraced, exchanging words of love and affection, before he walked to join his wife. Bulma, then, stepped into the arch alone, and the entire garden went quiet, gramophone gently fading out, replaced with the first buzzes of insects and a gentle brush of wind. 

"Night music," Bulma whispered, and Vegeta beamed, grasping her hand with his own, gloveless.

Behind them, Tights cleared her throat. "Dearly beloved," she stared, affecting a grandiose and deep tone, one that pulled giggles from the humans, herself included. Then, the joke over, she continued. "Friends, we have been invited here today to share a very important moment in Bulma and Vegeta's lives." 

She kept on, talking of true love and romance, change and transformation, the challenges of kidnappings and space travel, and the words washed over Bulma without being heard, warm and soft, contrasting the blazing heat radiating from the Saiyan hands she held.

"Now," Tights said, "I'd like to invite the bride and groom to read their vows. Bulma?"

The nerves fluttered her stomach, and Bulma pulled out a piece of paper, nestled in the flowers of her bouquet, words she had written and erased and written again catching the flickering light. 

"Vegeta," she started, and God her voice was so airy now, caught up with such emotion. "I didn't think I could love someone quite the way I love you. Our relationship has been... tumultuous, to say the least. But here we are, and I'm elated to be standing with you." She smiled, gave his hands a squeeze, and he returned it. "In the time I've known you, gotten to know you, I've discovered that you are an honest, passionate person. You care deeply, even if you don't always show it." Vegeta snorted at this, and she couldn't help but stick out her tongue a moment. "You are strong, intelligent, you have the most bizarre sense of humor, and you put up with me." Her heart seized in her chest, and she swallowed away the urge to cry or laugh, staring down at the paper. "I won't say you complete me, because I'm whole without you. I won't say I need you, because I don't. But I will say that if you weren't in my life, I would be missing out on so many things that I now take for granted, and I would be missing out on you. On us." His thumb brushed the back of her hand, encouraging her. "I can't wait to be your wife, your partner, and your friend." 

Thus finished, Bulma beamed at him through watery eyes, hearing a few sniffles from behind her—probably her mom. Then, Tights nodded at Vegeta. The Saiyan King didn't pull out any paper, nor did he seem nervous. He was fixated on her, as though Bulma were the only thing on the planet, and then he started. 

"My Bulma." Vegeta's tone was deep, reverent. "You are like a star—bright, dangerous, beautiful, and impossible to control. You have become the sun I orbit. I have never met another woman like you, a multitude of contradictions. Without you, I would have died long ago, broken and weak. With you at my side, I have found my ideal self." Her vision blurred, and as she blinked the tears away Bulma was briefly shocked as her veil was lifted, brushed back along her hair, and he drew a thumb across her eyes to smooth the pain away. "You are a conqueress. You have conquered my heart, my bed, and my fleet, betraying your unfathomable stubbornness. And I echo your words as well. Without you, I would be whole. But without you, I would never be satisfied. How can I be, when I have had the crown jewel of the universe in my arms? What is there to do, now, but love you?" 

It was off script, but Bulma could not help but throw her arms around him and draw him into a hug, and he hefted her off her feet a moment, enveloping her in warmth and joy. 

When they recovered, Tights waved her hands toward Kakarot. "The rings?"

Kakarot grinned, reaching down behind him and ruffling his son's hair. That was his cue, and Garban dashed forward, balancing the bands on a small pillow and presenting them excitedly to Bulma and Vegeta. 

"Thanks, little guy," she cooed at him, and Vegeta even gave him a brief head pat before he returned to the safety of his father.

"This ring symbolizes my eternal love and commitment to you." The couple repeated the words in turn, sliding the rings onto the other's hand. Both bands were crafted of obsidian wood, Bulma's slim and delicate, Vegeta's solid and sturdy and with a clear coating to prevent it from alighting from energy blasts. When they entwined hands, the rings reached out for each other, a strip of magnetic metal inlaid in the center, calling for their partners, always yearning. 

Tights stepped back from them, grin uncontrollable. "By the power vested in me by an online certificate, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Their kiss had never tasted so sweet.

* * *

At sunrise, Vegeta stood in the capitol building, hearing the deep pulsing of drums thrum through his body, other instruments drowned out by thick curtains blocking the view of the chambers. The cacophony of voices, chanting an ancient hymn, could not be muffled even through heavy cloth, and every hair on his body stood rigid as the powerful sounds hit him.

Today was his wedding day.

To be sure, by Earth standards, Vegeta and Bulma were already married, husband and wife. Their ceremony the night before had proven it, and certainly there would be no doubt as to consummation should anyone inquire.

Tonight, though, was the night for the Saiyans. The night for himself, to confront his birthright, and to let his chosen one ascend to Queen. To say that Vegeta had never contemplated this moment before would be a lie – no, he’d spent many nights even before meeting his beloved picturing his wedding, what it might be like to hear the drums, to have his parents and brother recite traditional words, to experience the bonding…

It was not that he hesitated before these curtains. It was just that standing at the precipice, he could feel with shocking clarity how singular this moment was. How only. A literal once-in-a-lifetime. Perhaps humans could have other such couplings—Bulma had tried to explain something called _divorce_ to him, to little effect – but for a Saiyan, this was it. Once he stepped through, once it was his time, it would pass too fast.

But the time came, and the hymn stopped, only drums pounding, and his life as King without Queen was only a number of breaths away from ending. Vegeta pressed back the curtain and strode in.

The air was hazy, braziers lit through the whole room, each with a vat of water bubbling away above it. No expenses were spared for royal weddings, and precious water was boiled up into steam, representing the rains that came to heal the planet on rare occasions. One of the moons, a crescent shaved off of it after a year since it was full, was projected on the ceiling, a hologram of the night before, blindingly white compared to the deep burning reds from the ground. This light shone on the audience, the whole of the capital come to watch, come to experience this one moment.

At the front, where the golden throne had sat during his coronation, a masked figure stood, shrouded in black. Obscuring their face was the facsimile of a great ape, transformed, carved out of obsidian wood and ornamented with fierce red clay – she’d told him, many times, that she’d liked it, decorating the castle and the capital. Black Heartwood, from their first planet and cultivated near the poles where the deserts weren’t so harsh – but here the visage was menacing, old gods come to ominous life. Through the open jaws of the monster the flash of skin underneath betrayed the scene, Vegeta seeing his brother’s own jaw intoning with the music, the only voice wafting with the steam. The voice of the gods.

Across the room, he saw another set of curtains, falling heavy, obscuring his bride (his wife? His betrothed? His half-wife?) from him until it was her time. What did she feel, now? Was it nerves? Confusion? During the Earth ceremony Vegeta had felt mild curiosity, and burning love, whereas she had seemed enrapt.

This song, too, ended, and now Tarble raised his hands, the tenor of his words carrying through the room.

"The Saiyan people were born of the ground,” he began, and Vegeta listened. “The gods’ hands shaped them from soil the color of spilled blood, and when the first clawed free of the smothering dirt they took their first breath and screamed.”

Before them, a blazing battle cry from the Saiyans gathered, and Tarble waited for the echoes to die.

“Why do you scream, asked the gods. And the First said—"

"To show my strength," Vegeta intoned. 

"And the Gods decreed this creature to be the fiercest they had deigned to bring forth, and they celebrated their good fortune.”

Vegeta’s crown, not worn since his coronation, was resting at the god’s feet. He snatched it, placing it upon his head with ferocity. A short-lived omen.

“The First conquered all other life upon that soil, war cries echoing up to the moon itself. But with time they screamed once more, faltering.”

Now, the crowd released a wail, pained and fragile.

“Why do you scream? Asked the gods once more. And the First said—"

"I am the strongest." Vegeta did not have time to dwell on how appropriate that was.

Tarble thrust his hand out toward the far wall, toward the curtains. "Here the gods were displeased, and they argued what to do amongst themselves, before reaching down into the soil and plucking a Second.”

She strode in from the side opposite him, emerging from the steam. He saw the pins in her hair before all else, their jewels catching the false moonlight and his eye. The traditional royal gown adorned her, straps and ribbons blended, deliberately ancient in appearance despite being made of the finest modern materials. It was elaborate, extravagant, a deep color that was near-black, appeared green and red and blue in some light. His own attire matched, ribbons knotted all around the jacket, draping behind him cape-like. Designed to appear binding, while accentuating all movements. Vegeta's eyes could not help but go straight to Bulma's hips, their confident sway as she marched forward, decadence. She held a dagger, sharpened to a razor edge. Battle herself.

“And they screamed, and the First was filled with rage."

The crowd, this time, was silent – no, instead Bulma raised the dagger above her head, face contorted, and she unleashed a shriek, all bloodlust and fury, one that made his heart stop in his chest a moment and forget, forget how human she was, forget about everyone around him watching them – only her, only the moment, only the way her hand grew white-knuckled around the blade as she charged him.

Vegeta pulled his own dagger, stashed on his belt, though his had been blunted at his insistence—and the shout was pulled from his throat without thinking, without remembering that it was just what he should do, only reacting on instinct, blocking her swing with his own weapon, pressing through to strike through her defenses, but she parried, effortlessly, as though she hadn’t learned the movements a few days prior, as though she’d been fighting her entire life. Her eyes blazed with cerulean fire—ferocity coming through them, pushing her through the difficult routine, and he was captured by her. 

The god continued, unheeded. "Their battle raged as long as time, neither tiring, but the Second was filled with wisdom and spoke."

Their blades were locked, arms grappling shoulders as though to generate distance, standing under the holographic moon and bathed in her light, and Bulma hissed the proper response, not breathless, but strong.

"Separately, we are matched. Together, we are unstoppable."

Yes, Vegeta thought.

The god stepped forward. "And the joining of these beings echoed through the heavens, catching the eye of the full moon, whose light shone on them for the first time. And with this power, they grew monstrous, soaring beyond the sky.” They dropped their grapple, seized each other by the hand in partnership, and turned toward Tarble. “They attacked the gods themselves, and the blood they shed left scars and pockmarks on the crumbled moons below, as a reminder of the might of two creatures joined."

Now, Vegeta and Bulma, united as one, thrust their daggers forward, catching the trailing black shroud Tarble wore, tearing it through to reveal shimmering fabric, bright red, just underneath the layer, and then they grabbed the mask, tossing it to the ground. Tarble’s face was painted red, as though blood seeped through his eyes, nose, mouth, from the attack. 

“The gods abandoned them,” he said. “And before the soil that made them, alone but together, the lovers vowed to each other.”

Vegeta recited the words, and she matched him carefully, not once stumbling over the Saiyan tongue. 

"To you, I shall be loyal. To you, I shall share as much of myself as I can. To you, I shall give fine children who will serve our people. To you, I shall bring fierce protection and defense and vengeance, from others, from myself, and from yourself. To you, I shall show respect befitting the warrior's soul you have."

As they spoke, Tarble gently maneuvered them around, guiding Vegeta and Bulma's hands together, forming a deliberate and strong connection. 

"I pledge now. I shall be your partner first. I shall be your warrior second. I shall be your lover third. All else comes after us. To uphold an empire, comes after us. To maintain strength, comes after us. To produce heirs, comes after us."

Here, Tarble pulled out a great ribbon, crimson in color like the shining garment beneath his shroud, inlaid with black and silver, and he weaved that ribbon through their hands. When they finished their vows, he was grasping the ends, poised above them, the fabric threaded around and around them, tightly binding. 

"Today," he said, "You are locked into one another. You are as one. You will always be as one, even after death. Nothing can sever your bond, not even yourselves." 

Through the knot, Bulma squeezed Vegeta's hand, and in her deep blue eyes he could see the excitement, trepidation, the love shining through. The bindings could not hold him, he knew this—enough strength and they would break—but that was not the point. 

Tarble turned around, and when he faced the couple again he gingerly grasped a delicate crown, matching the one Vegeta bore on his own head. The King stole that crown with his tail, easily clutching it, easily maneuvering it. Resting against Bulma’s bright blue hair, the thin metal suited her, perhaps more than it had ever suited a woman, a Saiyan.

Queen Bulma turned to face her people, who erupted in cheers, drowning out the swelling music but not the joy in his heart.

* * *

The revelry was nearly deafening, the stomping and hooting and hollering from their people in the ballroom of the castle. Food and drink were unceasing, and never before had Vegeta seen so many goblets of blood wine in one place. They had two matching goblets, sitting there at the head table, but had hardly touched them. Though the knot around their wrists had loosened, it still as yet made eating and drinking difficult, made the couple vulnerable. But then, even hands lashed, who would take on the royal couple, when one had ascended to legendary?

As the feast was starting to wind down, the attendees were leaping up with their mates and spouses, flinging them in drunken rhythms around the floor, as though that passed for dancing. Kakarot and his harpy were out there somewhere, his wife had pointed them out madly cackling as they spun by.

His _wife_. She was in good spirits beside him, although her nose was wrinkled with some thought – she divulged it without prompting. “I just want to be able to drink this wine,” she said, leaning over into him.

King Vegeta chuckled at that. “We should not indulge too much. You know as well as I how that can turn out.”

“Quite well,” she fired back, a mischievous look in her eye, and here she came close, the words a bare whisper in his ear. “Or quite poorly, depending on the amount you decide to drink. I would like you to be _useful_ later.”

The shudder up his spine could not be helped, and Vegeta stole a kiss from her, with more restraint than he thought possible at that moment, but his queen did not seem to mind as she pulled away. No, that wicked look was still on her, despite his efforts. Or perhaps because of them?

“Hey, Vegeta.”

The tone pulled him back months, to the incessant questions of their courtship, her blazing desire to dig out his secrets. He’d long since stopped trying to dissuade her, but the roll of his eyes was harder to control. “This should be good.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back into your beast mode?”

He flinched back, pulling her wrists towards him due to the bindings. “The Super Saiyan Legend is not simply a beast mode—”

But he was cut off by her giggles, he could feel them vibrate up the ribbons. "It sort of is, babe."

He snorted, and they watched the dancers in front of them, through a change in the song from quick and hectic to smooth and sweet. It was a thought, wasn't it? Would he ever return? His base form was still leagues more powerful than any threat he could comprehend, let alone the first tier of Super Saiyan. "I hope I won't need to," he pondered aloud.

She hummed beside him, sliding herself closer to him, a nuzzle of the head instead of a stroke on the arm. "That's fair." Now Bulma bit her lip. "Although…"

He glanced down at her, suspicious. "Although?"

Her eyes scanned the crowd, the servants. No one was close, and she tilted up toward his ear, breath hot. "It's been so long since I've seen it...I feel like I might even miss it." 

Vegeta smiled, then grinned when she winked up at him. "Oh really?"

"Mmm." She hooked his leg with her ankle. "Just a bit."

Now it was the king's turn to lean to her ear. "Vulgar woman," he whispered, and she shivered even as she laughed. The feeling was contagious—gods, how had he grown to deserve this? Matching laughter burst out of his chest, and no bindings could stop him from pulling her into him, swinging her around, letting their joy echo throughout the ballroom.


	2. Wedding Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: here be smut. I wanted to play with some of the intensities of both the infamous Saiyan bonding ritual and what it would be like to have a Saiyan for a lover -- there are some themes of consensual non-consent as well as dominance/submission here. Mind the tags, and remember that Bulma and Vegeta are still having a wonderful time. Enjoy!

“So.” 

Bulma stood awkwardly in the middle of the royal bedroom, fiddling with the lace on her dress. The guests had all gone by now, the bindings carefully untied, and, spent, she and Vegeta had made their way back here. This was going to be their home now, after all—in the last few months of planning the wedding, he had insisted on them keeping separate bedrooms, even though they shared beds more often than not. Something about tradition. It was different now that she'd be here full time. More real, somehow. 

Vegeta turned when she spoke, midway through removing a complicated series of ribbons around his collar. “So?”

Bulma smoothed her dress again, trying to banish the awkward feeling. “We’re married now. Twice.”

The King turned back to face the mirror, continued removing his ribbons with a smile. “Yes, I was there when it happened, strangely enough.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Are you already having second thoughts, woman?”

Bulma—or rather, Queen Bulma, and wow, that was something she was going to need to get used to—shook her head. “Not at all. I don't regret anything about you and me.” A thought came to her and she giggled. “Well, maybe except for taking so long to kiss you.”

He chuckled, dropping the ribbon and moving to unfasten a series of buttons on his coat. 

“No,” she continued. “I guess it's just...the reality of it set in, you know? I'm your wife now.” At that she smiled. “I get to spend the rest of my life with you. The thought is a little overwhelming.”

Vegeta hummed, still working on the buttons. His brow was furrowed with the effort. 

“Can I help?” She asked, walking over toward him. She would be willing to guess that he'd had a servant do up the buttons to get it on. 

The little war he waged with himself played over his face, but he did nod in the end, so she gently pulled away his hands and set to undo the coat. 

“I suppose your fingers are better suited for this task,” he grumbled. “Much nimbler.”

She shot him a playful smirk. “Well, maybe if your fingers weren't so fat from all the fighting you could do it yourself.”

Bulma could barely contain her giggle at the incredulous look on his face. But the shock wore off quickly, replaced with a smirk of his own. “Funny,” he drawled, “I was under the impression that you _liked_ my fat fingers.”

_That_ sent a twinge through her belly and a flush to her cheeks. “I have said nothing of the sort.”

He gently traced his fingertips over her cheek, making her shiver. “Strange. The week before last I distinctly remember you asking me to, what was it? _Hurry up and put them in me already?_ ”

She was definitely blushing now, staunchly refusing to meet his eyes. “I will leave you stuck in this coat,” she warned. The buttons were close to done and the garment was hanging open, revealing his undershirt. 

Now his hands were playing with her hair, gently pulling out pins and ribbons as he pet and tugged it. “It is in your best interest to get me naked as soon as possible, wife.” (Okay, hearing him call her that _really_ should not have stoked that fire in her blood.) His tail had come out to join his hands, toying with the loose curls at the nape of her neck. “Perhaps it's different on your planet, but Saiyan tradition dictates that we must _fuck_. For hours.” Fat fingers or no, he had managed to work her hair completely undone. “Preferably, until I've made your legs so weak with pleasure that I have to carry you through the castle.” 

She ignored the slight shake to her hands as she popped the last of the buttons. “Your mouth is filthy.”

“You like my filthy mouth, too.” Vegeta stripped the coat off, tossed it aside. The undershirt was a silky material and nearly translucent, and she was reminded of just how well defined his abdomen was. Without prompting, Bulma began to unfasten those buttons as well. “In fact, I recall you saying that you wanted me to ravish you, all those months ago...”

Bulma bit her lip. “You are making it very hard to remove your shirt.” 

“You seem to be managing just fine.”

She batted away his hands, which were coming up to her back to unlace the dress. Unfortunately, she didn't have enough arms to combat them and his tail, and she could feel the bodice starting to slip off. “I thought you said ravishment was for the unwilling.”

“That's true,” he rumbled (oh no, she couldn't resist that low register for long). “But I'm sure a Queen as talented as you could fill the role with ease. I fell in love with you for your mind, after all.” The bodice was completely loose now, and he folded it down, exposing a corset. He wrinkled his nose at it, palming at her chest through it anyway. “Among other things.”

The last of his shirt buttons was undone now as well, and she tugged the garment off impatiently (not impatiently, she was never impatient). She managed to rip her eyes (and fingers) away from his chest to look at his face, somewhat seriously. “How will you know if I'm pretending to be ravished, or actually being ravished?” 

He hummed, now massaging her waist. “I can smell your fear, Bulma. That would seem rather telling, don't you think?”

Unable to resist any longer, she ran her hands over his abdomen, delighting in his warmth. “I'm not so sure about that. A little fear can be thrilling once in a while.” She glanced back up at him, fighting a blush about what she needed to explain. The thought of it, though, of being overwhelmed by him...it was making her head spin enough to push through the apprehension. “On Earth, we have...well...code words that we use for these things. That means that the fear is so bad that you need to stop.”

He seemed intrigued by that, eyebrow raising. “Code words?” 

“Yeah.” She reached around him, grazing her fingertips over his back. “Something you wouldn't say in the moment, whether you were pretending to be ravished or not. Like _sassafras_. Or _Capsule Corp_.”

Vegeta grunted. “What not just use _code word_ then? It seems simpler.”

Well, she couldn't argue with that. “That works.”

“It is decided then. We will stop if that is said.” She could feel his breath hot against her shoulder as he leaned into her, pressed a kiss to her pulse. “Now, more importantly...how much do you care about this corset?”

Bulma blinked. “Um, I don't really care—” 

“Good.” He grasped it in his hands and wrenched it apart. The fabric made a loud tearing sound, ribbons and buttons and lace flying every which way. Bulma gasped in surprise as her breasts were exposed, instinctively made to cover them up with her hands, but Vegeta pulled her wrists aside with a little more force than necessary, backing her into the mirror on the wall and pinning her arms above her head with one hand. There was a darkness that had come into his eyes that made her stomach drop.

“If you say _stop_ , I will not listen,” he warned, pressing his body into hers. “Not if you say _no_ , not if you beg or plead or scream.” His tail was snaking out between them, over her body to wrap around her ribs. Already she felt dizzy from arousal and he'd barely started. “You are mine, and I will take from you what I desire. Your fear means nothing to me. Do you understand?”

Bulma could barely breathe, the anticipation was already overwhelming her, as was the feeling of his body pressing her into the mirror. But she nodded anyway. “Yes...”

Vegeta kissed her, hard and wanting, driving his tongue into her mouth like he owned it. Bulma moaned and tried to rub her hips against him, but he had pinned her too tightly. Still, he was rutting his arousal along her stomach, hot and hard already through his trousers. His free hand came up to massage her breast, squeezing not hard enough to hurt but enough to remind her just how much more powerful he was, even out of his beast form. All she could do was kiss him fiercely and enjoy the rough handling. 

Her King left her face and dove into her neck, sucking a large bruise into her skin, biting hard enough to make her yelp and jerk, but not to break the skin. Instinct demanded she get away, but no amount of struggling would loosen his hold on her. 

When Vegeta pulled back from his handiwork he grinned at her, a devious and possessive expression. In one smooth movement, he had grabbed the remainder of her wedding dress and tugged it off of her body (mercifully not ripping anything) before throwing his wife over his shoulder and marching her, shrieking protests, to the bed. ( _Their_ bed.)

He didn't so much drop her into the blankets as toss her, with a bounce or two before she got her bearings. The flight instinct was still thrumming through her, a desperate urge to get away from him despite another instinct that was very content to watch him tug off his trousers and underwear. Flight won out, barely, and Bulma lunged toward the back of the bed. She had no plan, she just needed to run. And to be chased. 

Chase he did, grabbing her by the ankles with a growl and dragging her back to the edge. Kicking did nothing to discourage him. “You aren't going anywhere,” he warned. “Not until I've made you beg for mercy.”

Bulma shuddered and gripped the blankets. “Then please, let me go.” 

Vegeta chuckled, a dark sound that held a lot of promise. “That's not the begging I meant, woman.” He was standing between her legs, had somehow managed to kick off his shoes (though he seemed perfectly content to let Bulma keep her heels on). Braced on her elbows, she was just at eye level with his cock. 

She licked her lips without thinking and that seemed to give her husband a wicked idea, because his tail shot out to wrap around her neck. Not hard, not choking her, but nevertheless with enough force to prevent her from moving. 

“Can you breathe?” he muttered, and she nodded. “No, speak it.”

“Yes,” she said. “I'm fine.” 

The grin was back now. “Let's change that, then, shall we?” He pulled her closer, bumping his arousal into her cheek. “Little minx. I'm sure you know what to do with this.”

Bulma bit her lip and shook her head, tried to draw back but he wouldn't let her. 

Vegeta laughed. “That wasn't a request.” He released her ankles (kicking, evidently, still didn't help free her) and stilled her head with his hands, gloves cool on her skin, before wedging a thumb into her mouth. The taste of leather made her heart pound, but it was only for a moment because he quickly pried her lips apart and swapped the digit for his cock. 

He didn't move, just stared at her with that feral look in his eyes and an evil grin. He was heavy on her tongue, a lovely sensation that made her eyes flutter shut despite her pretenses of resistance. 

The gloved hand had returned, reaching to grab her arm and drag it, placing Bulma’s hand gently on the bare expanse of his back. She looked up at him quizzically. “If you choke, hit me here,” he said, still with that beautiful grin. “It will be hard to shout with my cock buried in your throat.”

Bulma let out a muffled squeak as he pressed forward with his hips, sliding further into her mouth, sudden and fast. His retreat was just as rapid, setting a brutal rhythm. She couldn't move, not with his hands on her head and his tail on her neck...still couldn't move when he pulled his hands back to rest on her shoulders. Fuck, it was amazing. Locked in place by that powerful tail, knowing in the back of her mind that he was strong enough to kill her in an instant but could never bring himself to hurt her...

“Little minx,” Vegeta was saying. He was grinning now, showing no signs of effort or exhaustion yet. “Little queen...you can't get away from me, can you?” 

Her husband bent over her, forcing her body back, back, back until she was flat on the bed and he was propped up on his arms, driving into her with more force now as he knelt over her. She whined around his cock, trying to wiggle away to no avail. 

“Or is it that you don't _want_ to get away?” Now there was a breathlessness to his tone, one that he got when he was getting close. Bulma's attempts to shake her head were thwarted, but the little muffled protest was hopefully clear enough. “Hn. I don't believe you, wicked creature.” Vegeta tightened his hold on her neck for a moment, just a pulse of force that sent her heart racing. “It doesn't matter, I'll use that beautiful throat with or without your enjoyment.”

His thrusts into her mouth were getting erratic, sloppy, and before she could comprehend fully what was happening he let out a splendid groan and was coming on her tongue, cock throbbing. The tail around her neck fell onto the bed as she swallowed. 

There was no reprieve in sight, though. Vegeta regained his composure quickly, pulling back to the edge of the bed. Without him pressed up against her she felt cold and exposed, and even more so when he reached down and ripped her panties off in dramatic fashion. 

Bulma gasped. “I liked those!” 

He just shrugged, the scraps of fabric discarded to the floor. “They were in my way.” 

Her protest was cut off when he pressed his hand against her mouth. Hooking an arm and a tail underneath her, he pulled Bulma topsy turvy, nestling her back and shoulders into his lap and draping her legs over his arms. In a smooth movement, he swapped the hand for his tail, wrapped around her mouth like a gag. No matter how much she tried to talk it was to no avail.

Her husband bowed his head toward her, nuzzling his nose into her thigh. He took a deep breath in and growled it out as he looked down at her. “I am going to enjoy hearing you scream,” Vegeta purred, “But we wouldn't want to get caught by the staff, would we minx?”

It was a heady combination—the thought of being caught, the rush of blood, the feel of fur brushing her lips. Bulma briefly wondered what she had done to deserve such treatment, but it was a fleeting thought. He had dropped his head to her core and was devouring her before she could think. 

Every place where their skin met was on fire, slick with sweat. When Vegeta slid a gloved hand over her thigh she thought she was going to die. Then two of his fingers—no, three—were inside of her and she convulsed around them, vision cutting out, body quaking around the cool leather. He worked her through the orgasm, not slowing down, tongue and lips and hands making the most lewd, wet noises against her. It was too much; her body was too sensitive in the aftermath. Against the tail she screamed, writhing against the intense sensation, but still he didn't stop, walking a thin line between pleasure and pain. She had died after all, a small death, and gone to heaven, or hell. 

He must have kept her there for a half hour, maybe more, pulling her from one position to another to change the angle, upside down, right side up, pinned. By the time he was done, she'd lost track of how many orgasms she'd had at six and had lost her voice. Vegeta laid her out on the bed gently, on her belly, and she couldn't have moved if she tried, legs shaking, head spinning with the effort of thinking. 

So caught up in her haze, she barely registered as he pulled her thighs up and apart, helpless to resist. No, it wasn't until she felt his hardness pressing up against her core, the warmth of his chest bowing over her back, that Bulma’s brain kicked back in. As he aligned himself to her, he was grumbling wicked things in her ear; how wet she was, little minx, what a filthy creature, yearning for more, a beautiful picture in his bed, as his wife. 

She was so slick with sweat and juices that he met no resistance as he slid home, deceptively slowly. Bulma moaned, gripping the duvet beneath her. Everything was so sensitive, so intense, and she was already spent. Her husband began to set a rhythm, slow at first but soon speeding up, moving from thrusting to pounding, brutally driving himself into her. She was crying, tears streaming down her face from exhaustion, but the last thing in her mind was him stopping. No, she _never_ wanted him to stop.

And still Vegeta spoke, voice steady even as he slammed into her body, breaths punctuated by nibbles and kisses on her neck. His words, at first filthy, now evolved into tender declarations. He was going to have her at his side for the rest of his days, as his wife, as his queen. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever set his eyes on, and she'd saved him. Changed his life. Bulma, still pinned under him, still hanging on for dear life, mustered up the energy to turn her head, look at him through the tears. As their eyes met, something warm went through her, something soft and hard to describe. Despite the harsh treatment, despite the exhaustion...she just felt safe. He kissed her, the juxtaposition between hard thrusts and soft lips jarring. 

I love you, she tried to say, but she had no voice left. He had stolen it from her and she’d given it willingly to him.

Vegeta’s efforts slowed just briefly, and when he reached to wrap his hands around her waist this time it was without gloves, and he hissed at the sensation. She felt him bending his body against her spine, pressing her down into the bed, his breath hot in her ear, and the growled words didn't register at first—“You shouldn't have put your back to me, woman.” 

She didn't have the presence of mind to question him, but the answer came soon enough—a bright flash at the edge of her vision, a loud rush of wind in her ears, and—“Fuck!” she shrieked, the sudden sensation of being stretched overpowering, pushing her through the scratchy throat, as though he had gotten bigger somehow inside of her, god she was so close again—

Vegeta wrapped his hands, larger hands, around her hips and plucked her up like it was nothing, spinning her around and setting her in his lap, poised just at her entrance, and the explanation was obvious—red fur, lined eyes, protruding muzzle, fierce teeth. And his expression was downright _wicked_. 

“Miss me?” he drawled, just a hair out of breath, he must be getting close to—

— _pain_ —on her neck, on the bruise he'd left, he'd punctured her with those fangs, she remembered his warning earlier, the marking, the mating, possession, something itching at the back of her brain—but even then, it was behind a haze of sensation that she could barely get past, because at the same time he'd thrust himself back into her body, _hard_ , and she was coming again, screaming—

When she recovered, the sharp sting had faded to a dull ache, wound closed, and he'd stilled, cock twitching inside her with effort, his teeth set against the urge to move through her aftershocks. His head was tilted to the side, neck exposed—he expected her to do the same, to finish the mating, the bond—and she was gripped, suddenly, with apprehension, with real fear, the first she'd felt since they'd tumbled into the bed. 

He sensed it. Now he was completely frozen, resisting her body's temptation s with ease “Say the word and I'll stop.”

She shook her head yet then hesitated, she knew what she had to do, to hurt him in the same way, but—“I can't,” she managed. “I—bite you, I—”

“You _can_ ,” he encouraged, all of the ferocity and malice evaporating, leaving only pride, love, devotion. A hand ghosted up her back, warm and gentle, rubbing circles. “I have you, Bulma.” 

She moved fast so she would not second guess his trust, leaning down, the itch pressing her to summon that meagre energy he'd taught her to access, flying lessons, sinking her teeth into his pulse, Vegeta's shields and walls completely down, he moaned as she broke the skin, letting her through, the taste of iron in her mouth for a moment, but—

— _amplification_ —

—as soon as the connection was complete it was like the pleasure doubled and that itch in her brain opened up to sensation and emotion, floodgates bursting, his, hers, she didn't know, one of them pressed the other underneath them, _I have you_ , bodies merged, minds linked as the bond took hold, thrust up and down into each other, _I need you_ , they were coming, filling each other up, hot, sticky, shaking, and fuck it was so good, not knowing where one of them started and the other ended, _I love you_ , and Bulma and Vegeta cried out together as the final shakes wracked them and ecstasy blazed through their blood like wildfire.

They panted, breath refusing to be caught, muscles quivering, and the connection gently eased back from their minds, the tide rolling out, leaving the water barely lapping at the sand. 

“Oh God,” Bulma managed after a minute. She was hoarse, but at least she could talk now. “Is it like that every time?”

Vegeta was spent too, flashing back to his normal appearance, pausing between sentences to breathe. “I've been told that the first one is the most intense. It will fade as the marks age.” He closed his eyes. “But there is always a bond renewal.” 

Her forehead came down to rest on his chest, but she reached out and blindly poked his side with her finger. “That was a dirty trick, changing form like that.”

Vegeta's chuckle reverberated through her. “I required you to be limber and distracted, to minimize your pain. It seemed to work.”

"God damn right it did," and she felt the breath of his snort stir the sweat-soaked hair on the nape of her neck. "I think the staff might have heard us, though."

"Impossible," he rumbled. "These walls are fully soundproof. A planet could blow up in here and no one would notice."

She frowned. "But you said—"

He just smirked. "I said many things I didn't mean. Or was I not frightening enough for a ravisher?"

"Hah." Bulma's heart was no longer trying to escape her body. She sat up, legs splitting across his chest, finally managing to wrench off her shoes. His fingers, trailing along her hips, gave her thighs an appreciative squeeze before she flopped back down atop Vegeta.

" _Are_ you all right?" he questioned, the concern only thinly veiled. "You didn't say otherwise, but…" And here his thumb stroked across her cheek, sticky salty tears smearing underneath.

"No, no." Bulma beamed at him, fighting fatigue. "That was perfect. Intense, yeah, but I loved it. It was just the end that was hard." She could feel a faint presence in the back of her mind, sort of like a headache except if a headache were pleasant. A mental back burner. She tapped her skull. "This might take some getting used to."

Vegeta nuzzled her with his chin, sending her hair even more askew. "You are brave and smart. You will adjust quickly." And it was strange how she could feel the compliment, not just her own emotions but an echo of his lapping over her from the bond, warm and comforting. 

Bulma pressed a kiss to his chest, and didn't resist when he tilted her head up and kissed her properly, soft and gentle. "I love you, husband," she whispered. 

"And I love you, my queen," he returned, tail wrapping around her waist, arms enveloping her in a tight hug. 

They rested for many moments, snuggled against each other, a perfect fit. She lazily traced fingertips along his sides, and he lazily stroked through her hair. The newlyweds may have nodded off, even, so content with each other.

"You know," Bulma drawled, stifling a yawn, "I could get used to this pampering."

That wretched smirk returned. “Pampering? I must not have tried hard enough.” 

She laughed, tugging him over on top of her, his elbows sparing her the entirety of his weight. “You wore me out, you know. My teeth are tingling.”

“You seem like you still might be capable of walking.” His lips brushed against her neck, avoiding the bite. “And I have many more ways I want to make love to you before we see the sunrise.”

Bulma pressed her finger into the tip of his nose, grinning when he wrinkled it. “Are any of those ways going easy on me?”

He didn’t answer. Rather, Vegeta pulled her up into him, setting his wife, his queen, on his lap and melding their lips together. Slow, tender, drugging kisses, his thumbs caressing the small of her back. When she sighed and tilted her hips, adjusting his rapidly-hardening cock underneath her, the king purred, and this time when she was pressed back into the bed it was with reverence, with love, and soon she couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began. 

Bulma and Vegeta may not have been able to see the future, no. But right now? Right now, their marriage was looking quite bright.


End file.
